


The Hunger Songfic Challenge 6: The Dresden Dolls - The Kill

by BellaFuckingRockwell



Series: Bella's 10 Songfics for 10 Songs Challenge [6]
Category: David Bowie (Musician), The Hunger (TV 1997)
Genre: Corpses, Difficult Relationship, F/M, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Knives, Mild Gore, Songfic, Songfic Challenge, The Kill, Threats, dark themes, mild violence, the dresden dolls - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 17:34:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20295334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellaFuckingRockwell/pseuds/BellaFuckingRockwell
Summary: I've done an old exercise that used to rattle around the LiveJournal fic communities. The exercise is that you put your music library on shuffle and you write a fic in a certain fandom based on the first 10 songs that come up. They're usually meant to be drabbles, but I personally don't do drabbles bc I'm a verbose mf so they're just a bunch of short fics instead. My chosen fandom is The Hunger TV show and pairing throughout is Julian/Drew. They're loosely linked but aren't meant to be linear. I've also been pretty liberal with some of them in terms of how much they're actually based on the song!As it's The Hunger, the themes throughout are pretty fucking dark and potentially triggering in places. I'll post separate warnings for each one, but as a rule they're pretty much all NSFW for violence and/or smut (varying degrees of graphic). 18+ only, should go without saying.DISCLAIMER: I own absolutely nothing. The characters and settings do not belong to me. I'm merely a little fish in a big pond trying to amuse myself. Good day Sir.Song 6 of 10: The Dresden Dolls - The KillSynopsis: Julian is being investigated by the police again. Drew is not impressed.





	The Hunger Songfic Challenge 6: The Dresden Dolls - The Kill

Julian likes to push. Boundaries, art, life, death; whatever he can get his hands on.  
Sometimes, he pushes Drew.  
They argue. A lot. And when Drew snaps, she really snaps. The small part of her that is still so afraid of him, keeps her in line most of the time, is shut away, taken hostage by the rest of her mind. The intrigue for Julian is always how long it will last; how long before she breaks. It might just be his favourite game.  
The sweat on her neck is visible above her overalls, the dead subject of his latest piece on the table mere feet away oblivious to the battlefield the infirmary has become. Julian can feel a stirring in his gut, excitement, passion, watching Drew's hands ball into fists. He masks his enjoyment well, or perhaps not; standing before her, gait lazy, arms folded across his apron.  
“Tell me, Julian.” She's shrill, raging. “Why the hell were the police here again this morning?”  
He bares his teeth, a snarling smile, taking a step towards her. She doesn't shy away from him, like she does in her right mind.  
“For the thousandth fucking time,” he says, coolly, “It's nothing to do with you. I suggest you drop it.”  
“Or what, Julian?” He lets her shove at his shoulders, twice; remains stable as a pillar, because she doesn't have the strength to even make him teeter. “What the fuck are you going to do?”   
“Nothing.” He tries hard to look bored. Unfazed, the nod he throws in her direction condescending, daring. “I'm just going to let you work yourself into a frenzy like the hysterical little bitch you are.”   
Several inches shorter than him, she glares up at him like a panther about to pounce on its prey. “So you think I shouldn't be upset about this? About some detective tearing my office apart? Asking me questions? I lied to her, by the way! To fucking protect you!” She looks like she'll scream, stamp her feet, start tearing the room apart, and it's delicious. “Do you really want to ruin my life like you've ruined yours?”  
Ouch; that stings. Just a beesting, maybe, but it's enough.  
So he rises to the challenge. Responds, “what life? What great value and contributions have you given the world, my dear Drew?” He narrows his eyes. “You may think you're special. But you're really not.”  
He catches Drew's wrist, laughing, twisting, stopping her from striking him square in the face. Her cheeks are scarlet, her chest heaving. She makes a further swipe for him with her free hand, and he catches her again, squeezing her fist in his hand until she shrieks.   
“Calm down, love,” he says, in that mocking tone he knows she hates.  
A cry juts from her throat, piercing, primal. She's raw, at her most vulnerable, exposed, when she can't hold it in, and Julian so enjoys it, the way she jerks her arms as if possessed, trying to free herself. “Let go of me, you fucking asshole!”  
Julian licks his lips, pressing his face up to hers so he can feel her quick, hot breaths against his mouth. Pushing harder, harder still. “Why? So you can hit me?”  
Drew falters then, and Julian watches her eyes flicker, like a coma patient slowly regaining consciousness; her frenzy dulled by the realisation of what she was about to do. It's as if she glimpses her former self, herself before Julian; that Drew, she shied away from violence, would never put her hands on anyone. How things change.  
He releases her wrists, and predictably they fall to her sides, fists trembling, clenched. She winces, staring at him, and Julian recognises that look; disbelief and self-hatred, as you gaze at the person you love yet want to hurt so badly, how it makes you wish you could die, for the urge, for your rotten, putrid soul. It won't stop you, though.  
“The police have nothing on me.” Julian takes a step back, on guard this time, in case she strikes again. It'll be nice if she does. “Forget about it. And if they come back, just lie again.” He grins. “Be a good girl, now.”  
He's stoking the fire, and it's giddying.   
Violent though she's not, Drew's tongue is dagger sharp; it can do a lot of damage, and the poor girl doesn't know when to hold it. “Even if they did find something, you fucking freak,” her voice is delicate, oozes with venom, “No jury would be able to convict you. Because you're insane.”  
There's a silence, the kind that feels thick, muggy, drags on for too long. Drew sobers instantly, crashing down from whatever red hot trip she was on. Her features slacken, that look is back, and her mouth moves, but Julian's senses are all white noise; he thinks he reads “shit, I'm so sorry, Julian,” on her lips, and it looks like she means it, but that doesn't stop him from snatching a scalpel up from the tray. Doesn't appease him. Doesn't prevent him from pinning her against the wall, blade hovering at her jugular.  
You can corner a dog, but if you show it the mercy of backing off just a little, it'll bite. Julian is alight, flying, like he's had his veins ripped out, the menace of Drew's words, the i-word in particular, the one that hurts him more than anything... well, there's nothing deliberate about his pushing anymore. This is purely instinctive.  
His hand is steady, his eyes gleaming, as he envisions that pale skin opening, giving way to a gurgling, crimson river. “What a pretty little throat you have.”  
Her eyes are wide, shining, her lips uttering silent pleas. She's waning, and Julian should stop. Needs to stop. But no; just one more push... feels so fucking good...  
“Maybe we should test your theory.” He taps the blade against her skin, moulding her into petrified stillness, like a sculpture. “Shall I give the police another reason to come out?”  
Then Drew starts to cry, not just a little, but great, heaving, high pitched, panicked sobs, and it's like a wailing siren; the ultimate signal that his game is over. The scalpel bounces and clatters onto the floor as Julian scoops Drew up into his arms, holding her head to his chest, tending to her terror with soft “ssh”-ing sounds; though whether its to truly calm her or, selfishly, avoid the wave of remorse, regret, self-loathing that he spends his life running from, he can't be sure. Julian pushes and pushes, and he always pushes too fucking hard, and when he gets caught up in the rush of it like that it's oh so easy to forget the comedown that will tackle him afterwards, taking him down, down, down, until the day comes when he can't get back up.  
It takes a while for him to realise that Drew is struggling, pushing against his chest. “Get off me,” she gasps. “Please, please, please get the fuck off me...”  
Usually, Drew will protect him, and she doesn't even know it. She's a shield, defending him against himself, letting him hide the ugly parts; letting him become simply a man who loves a woman who lives with him and works with him and shares his life. It's beautiful, and Julian has never really known love before, and he likes it, mostly. But he doesn't like the cruel downsides, the paradoxical power the one who protects and adores you has to hurt you. Doesn't like what it makes him do. As powerful as love may be, it can't keep him safe from being real.  
His chest aches, fit to burst, as he releases Drew from his arms and watches her blur as she runs from the room, breathless and sobbing and terrified and almost tripping over her own feet. She must know, surely, that he would never really hurt her. That he'd never really slit her throat; that he'd rather slit his own. That right now, he wonders, quite seriously, if he should do just that.  
But right now, there's still work to be done, and if Julian can bury himself in that then perhaps he can avoid facing himself for a few hours. He approaches the corpse, still and silvery and ethereal, like a mannequin. A perfect canvas.  
“Women, eh?” he says to stiff, closed lips. “Sorry you had to see that.”  
Julian roams his gloved hands over his gleaming surgical tools, abandoned minutes before when Drew started asking about the police. He wavers a little at the memory. Dismisses it.  
“You know, it's kind of your fault.” He smiles down at his model, almost fondly. “If it wasn't for people like you, the police wouldn't trouble me at all.”


End file.
